DETHWAR part III: The Final Chapter!

[John Rabid]

D E ⊥ H W A R

PART THREE

VI 

ATTACK ON DETHFORT 

Written by John Rabid 

COREY BLACK has vanished. In his absence, the sinister CREEPING DEATH has risen from the ashes of WCF EXPLOSION and will not rest until Denmark, and the World has been destroyed. 

With the support of the WCF, COMMANDER JOHN RABID, BONNIE BLUE, ANDRE HOLMES, KAZ MAZY and ERIK BLACK lead a brave RESISTANCE. Rabid will stop at nothing to quell the undead horrors that are now arriving each day from an extra-dimensional portal at Dethfort Castle.  

Meanwhile, brave warrior CROW MCMORRIS is stranded in an another universe with Corey, as the two travel on a desperate journey to discover the truth behind their omnipotent foe, and find a weapon that will finally vanquish this monster forever.... 

“Operation Requiem” War Compliment: 

Lockheed Hercules C-130 : 12 in total. 

7 C-130’s contain: 

92 combat troops each (644 in total split into three battalions of 200 approx troops) Armed with the following: (SA80 Selective Fire Rifle, Beretta, M9 Sidearm, Ontario MK 3 Navy Knife) The 7 C-130’s also contain: 5 Stryker I.A.V’s (Interim Armored Vehicle) each, fitted with a 30mm cannon and capable of holding a complement of nine soldiers. The Strykers are outrigged for anti personnel engagement and to double as medical transports.  

Another 3 C-130’s contain: 

5 M1 Abrams Heavy Tanks. Each fitted with the following: 120 mm L/44 M256A1 smoothbore gun (40 rounds) 1 × .50-caliber (12.7 mm) M2HB heavy machine gun with 900 rounds. 2 × 7.62 mm (.308 in) M240 machine guns with 10,400 rounds (1 pintle-mounted, 1 coaxial) Full complement of engineers and spare parts. 

Final 2 C-130’s contain: 

Medical supplies and mIlitary tents for on site triage station. Full complement of Medical staff. Five Boston Dynamics MK Military issue “Big Dog” Quadruped Mechanized Robots armed with 1 30mm chain gun each, programmed for camp patrol and lethal force deployment. 

These are flanked by: 

Squadron Hammerhead: 7 AH‑64E Apache Helicopters (30 mm M230E1 Chain Gun. AGM-114 Hellfire anti-tank missiles. And Hydra 70 general-purpose unguided 70 mm rockets. 

First Objective: securing the north coastal town of Skagen. Former population: 8 thousand. 

A curtain of red brick terraced housing rested upon a craggy coastal break, out to sea a swirling mass of white surf crashed against the rocks as above a low rumble could be heard emanating from the clouds, observed by the slender amount of wildlife that still inhabited this region. As for the human populace? Most had lost their ability to listen and function as the living. Now, like many across this slice of Denmark, they had joined the legions of undead under orders from Dethfort and it’s new high commander; the nigh omnipotent Creeping Death.  

And yet, that rumble above grew ever louder. Unstoppable. Unrelenting. Operation: Requiem had arrived. Rabid’s forces were on the move.  

WAR JOURNAL: OPERATION DAY 1 

CMD. SIR. JOHN RABID. (OBE, KNIGHTHOOD) 

APRIL 20th. 2017: 0600 Hours. 

OBJECTIVE: TAKE THE TOWN. SET UP BASE OF OPS. 

We dived from cloud cover as dawn broken across the Dutch coast; My AH-64 was flanked by six others as small pockets of frightened heat signatures greeted our view screens, desperate fissures of humanity forming cracks of resistance inside schools and churches; huddled, crying tribes of life clinging onto hope and makeshift weapons. Thankfully, their moderate isolation from the remainder of the town made extraction possible. As for the cold, necrotic blue landscape that remained? It would be visited by a cascade of white hot death.  

“Weapons live! Pick your targets, Gentlemen!” My words falling into sync with our decent. I’m not one to (constantly) brag, but the Royal Air-force is the greatest group of lads in the world. Precision seems a lost art to the majority of major superpowers. All the technology, a thimble of talent. But these boys were hand picked from the finest squadrons. Surgical strike is an ugly term in the hands of most, but here and now it’s a wonderful symphony, only compounded by the elegant chimes of Beethoven’s glorious Allegretto that bleeds it’s brilliance over comms. I enjoy inspiring my troops, especially during times of stress. When you’re cutting down rows of undead monsters, it’s important to keep a cool head. Hellfire missiles are fun, but expensive. 

As the burnt orange sun rose, so did the death count. Undead blasted apart by eye of the needle selective fire.We tore through a running gang of about twenty that were feasting outside a food court. Salivating monsters ripped to shreds under a canopy of 30mm destruction. It was time to light my favourite pipe as blood and gore slithered down my flesh drenched windshield. I always advise lowering your rotor blades and shredding enemy units with diving runs if possible to conserve ammunition. It’s also a much more satisfying experience to behold. A hive of zombies, 300 in total, broke off from the route; seemingly directed by a higher consciousness, they shambled their way across town and gathered by several gas stations; attempting to force our hand into igniting the entire town. If they couldn’t hold onto Skagen, they would see it burn. Interesting strategy by Creeping Death.   

But of course, infinity flawed.  

“This is Hammerhead Command to Monolith Eight. Release the Dogs!” 

The C-130 opened its rear doors, and out leapt three of the mechanoid dogs that Lockheed’s skunk works had graciously delivered overnight. This would be their first fully operational test run; their heavily armoured shells a far cry from the simple toys with broken legs that began life skittering across the ice in test videos blasted over the internet. These were highly advanced killing machines, the next evolutionary step in combat, and we were privileged today to watch these nasty little buggers leap off the back of a low flying Hercules and skitter across rooftops, landing before the corralled undead before us with a cold, malevolent grace.  

The Dogs began to circle the undead; chain cannons mounted on their backs would be a dangerous option, even with their advanced aim and close proximity to the enemy. No, a much more traditional route needed to be taken here. A simple order. Just one word.  

“Feed” 

The Dogs snarled with a synthesized whurr of gears and cogs; snarling jaws comprised of sharpened steel rendered bone and flesh obsolete as the Zombies were ripped asunder. Arms and legs dissected with all the fervour of a mad shark as the undead surged forward, attempting to overpower the machery with sheer weight of numbers. Futile gesture, the Dogs blistering speed and sheer brute force made the undead’s counter a pitiful response. I found my hands waving after a time, conducting the orchestra of death below me as the delightful Allegretto reached it’s searing climax.  

Not a spark reached the gas stations. Just a wave of blood and gore; ushered on by the downdraft from my rotor blades, now drenched with the piecemeal of my enemy. A kind of warpaint I suppose stained my Chopper. I decided it would not be washed for the duration of this incursion.I wanted Creeping Death to know who was leading the pack; I wanted him to know who was ahead of the line, a soldier draped with the blood of his troops. A Red Knight; capable of matching his brutality without a second thought. 

“Town secured. Mister Mazy, if you would be so kind.”  

Kaz Mazy, THE CAPTAIN, Bonnie and Erik had parachuted into the surrounding countryside before dawn. Using the cover of night, Mazy had managed to “procure” the use of several dirtbikes from a local dealership for fast, nimble travel between the narrow city streets of Skagen. The roar of the KTM 450’s signalled the arrival of Mazy, my team, and Poon Guinea's most highly decorated and seasoned fighting unit. The dreaded 109th, “Men who used their thick like scimitars, cutting down enemies with the grace and blessing of Jam Willy himself”. At least, that’s how Kaz Mazy described their heroic deeds in his autobiography “ The Road to Cairo: The awakening of one man’s thick”. What I witnessed was indeed a well orchestrated, efficient fighting force; Mazy using that cybernetic arm of his to clothesline and decapitate any stragglers between his team and a local school. Evacuating the children inside and loading them up onto a nearby school bus. Dawn had brought death to this town, mid morning would bring life as the bus was escorted by my blood soaked helicopter to the local mayor’s office. The town square was to become our new base of operations as I sat the AH-64 down at the steps of the main hall. The whurr of blades lowering as overhear a cavalry of C-130’s taxied in onto a makeshift airstrip, a motorway that would serve as our demarcation point.  

Noon over the skies of Denmark. The first sortie in this war was over. But there would be no illusions as Myself, Kaz, Andre Holmes, Erik Black and Bonnie Blue gathered inside the mayor’s office, clearing a table and unfolding a map of the surrounding area. Thirty klicks from Skagen, along a slender coastline, was Dethfort; a perilous objective, and an altogether more hazardous proposition. Today was the first move on the board. It would mean nothing to the great game if we failed to secure the castle, and rid this world of the encroaching darkness that threatened our realities very survival. 

“The Mechs. How long until they arrive?” enquired Field Commander Holmes, lighting up a cuban cigar as he surveyed the map. “Another thirty hours until the mobile suits arrive from Japan” I explain. “They’re experimental and require re-assembly upon arrival. Mister Rayburn is anxious to join the fight, but we cannot hold back from engagement until his arrival. While his presence here would be ideal, I very much doubt we’ll be afforded such a luxury by our...host”. 

“Nightfall, they’re bound to retaliate.” Uttered Erik. 

“And Wade?” Added Bonnie. “Is the Leviathan on it’s way?” 

“Another 24 hours, MIss Blue.” I responded. “I believe Wade can help us with our menagerie problem. He’s been studying similar wildlife for quite sometime." 

“How the fuck can anyone study those things?” enquired Andre. His question a sensible response, yet seemingly redundant within a mad world. 

“I try not to think about it.” Was my reply. While we had the higher ground for now, the advantage meant little when faced with these gigantic monstrosities, hideous nests of kaiju that hugged the clouds and patrolled the depths waiting patiently for our arrival. Creeping Death was smart, he didn’t split his forces, he kept them close to the bell tower as each day brought more undead pouring out from a gateway to a world we christened “the Necrosphere”, a land of the dead where we feared Corey Black now found himself trapped, and alone. 

VII

Slash and Burn

Written by Crow McMorris and Kevin Bishop. 

DETHWAR: DAY 4 

Crow Mcmorris carried grudges the way a child carries groceries; they were sometimes a weight with use, but in the end he resented the task. Even after his murder, the fall and the resurrection; that McMorris side of him never truly manifested into the pure, focused dagger of hate his father often welded. There was just too much humanity still lurking behind those yellow eyes of Crow. That all changed however, when Creeping death split Crow from Scarecrow. The spirit of Crow McMorris banished into the necrosphere while Crow’s body remained here, now just the Scarecrow; a herald for a tyrant from a parallel universe, a universe that once teemed with life, but now only knew death as the boy known there as Corey Black grew up differently to the Corey Black we knew in our reality. One name, separated by a power that manifested and flourished like a cancer; a compulsion to murder and ravage a land. 

The Scarecrow stood guard inside the throne room of Creeping Death; his pale white eyes were devoid of reason; just a searing evil lurked there now, contained within a huge six foot eight frame that had never known such compulsions before.To kill.To destroy. Scarecrow had performed his tasks to the letter, he had gathered a group of lost and rudderless soldiers and given them purpose. To wake up “the true” Corey Black from his slumber and make him remember the noble side of his character. That was the plan. To be heroes. To save Corey Black from himself no matter the levels they would have to delve. And their orchestrator would be Creeping Death himself; at the time still seen as the entity that saved Corey’s young life; a force for good that wished only to bring down this latest, twisted reign of Pantheon. To bring Corey Black back to his senses. 

Lies, that wormed inside the minds of good men and made then commit Creeping Death’s doing. And yet, some still among their number stood tall with this harbinger of genocide. Karma, the dark queen of Kevin Bishop, found power at the feet of her new messiah, and so she bent the knee and accepted a commision as Horseman. Three others standing by her, Scarecrow, Oblivion and Alex Richards, as her eyes turned white and her soul empty. Karma was now a vessel now for the endless horizon of hate this would be conqueror vowed to bring; coldly wearing the steel breast plate and armour of her commander; an ornate design of entwining dragons and howling skulls caught in the death throes of combat. Her chainmail glistened under the freshly lit torches of the Castle. While above the masonry, the Kaiju patrolled; swatting away all that approached. The final few jets from the Denmark air force plunged into the ocean as the horsemen watched impassively as their fourth member joined them on the battlements. Committed to the cause. The complete and utter eradication of mankind.  

And to ensure that step, a sacrifice has to be made. To the dark lord. As it had been foreseen, such a long time ago.To the dragon.To the devil himself. 

A loud scream echoed in from a stone corridor as a high pitched voice approached, dragged kicking and screaming into the light of the throne room. It belonged to none other than Jason Slasher, his brutalised and tortured body thrown in chains to the castle floor.. 

Jason Slasher: Aaaaaghhhhh I didn't mean to fail you, my lord! 

Jason was dressed in torn black and grey clothes, shredded during his capture. He held out his blistered and broken hands, restrained by chains, palms upward and towards the occupied throne. It’s impassive, cold majesty ignoring Slasher’s cries for clemency. 

Jason Slasher: Bishop...he was spying on your every move sire! Bishop has betrayed your love.Your everlasting grace. Allow me the honor of hunting him down for you! He’s trying to find his way out of the catacombs below us. I could lead a small force, corner him. Bring his head back for you!   

The throne sits silent as Creeping Death simply observes.Jason’s behaviour becoming more erratic with every passing moment; his deluded mind sensing mistrust; his scarred body rocking backwards and forwards on the floor, punishing himself as he rakes his face with his bloody fingers.  

Jason Slasher: I failed you, Sire! I failed the one who controls my Dark Queen. The one who knew what was to come. Her sight could foresee your arrival. All those years we prepared for you. And yet, Bishop has forsaken your glory. He sees himself destined to seize the fire. To weld the power.  

Silence, there is no response to Jason, save the clatter of iron greaves on stone masonry. A figure from the battlements approaching. A lithe body encased within a second skin of steel.  

Jason Slasher: He came for Karma, my Lord! Bishop wishes to steal her back. To sever her connection to you. We must be cautious. He has learned greatly from his Queen. If he understands the arcane as he has claimed. . 

Jason shakes his head as if something shakes him. He mumbles now under his breathe, writing his own eulogy as he goes. 

Jason Slasher: Too late. I acted too late. Please my Lord...let it be quick. Let it….oh… 

Karma, the fourth Horseman of Death stood towering above Jason Slasher now as his tearful eyes beamed at her newly twisted visage. Karma’s lust for power had now imprisoned her within a cold, necrotic frame of icy flesh and impenetrable iron. She wrapped a spiked gauntlet around the scrawny throat of her captive, her orders already clear. Within Dethfort, there is no need for idle chatter, everyone who matters already knows their place. Their minds open doors to the king that wandered through them. All is his domain. 

Karma lifted Jason Slasher up from his hunched ball, his hands still chained to the floor of the throne room, This inconvenience did not stop Karma, ripping Slasher’s arms from their sockets as she continued to haul the screaming Jason high above her head. Holding him there as his amputated arms fell lifelessly to the ground.  

Scarecrow: Stop, you’re making a mess. 

Karma snorted at her compatriot, she walked the torso of Jason outside to the battlements and dumped him off with one swift flick of the wrist. Jason fell fifty feet before a swooping Kaiju crash dived from it’s perch and swallowed Jason whole. The undead beast munched on his bones, but there would be no sustenance to be found.  

Creeping Death: Scarecrow take Richards and search for this Bishop within the Catacombs. Karma, Oblivion. I sense Rabid is on the move. Prepare for an assault. Deal with our guests, personally. Make sure some harm comes to them.  

Oblivion: IT will not fail. IT will consume, and DESSSSSSSTROYYYYYYY! 

Karma: By your command, my Lord. 

VIII

One Nation: Under Deth 

By Crow McMorris 

Corey Black: They moved The White House...to Iowa? 

Crow McMorris: Rule number one of multi dimensional travel; your world is never as mad as the one next door.  

Corey Black and Crow McMorris stood on an overgrown White House lawn; fluttering above them was, “The All Seeing Eye and Stripes”, the flag of Creeping Death’s America. One nation under Pantheon with 51 states bowing under the yoke of a new empire. Wild vines wrapped their razor sharp thorns around the base of the White House, tendrils digging into the structure’s iconic ivory dome which was cracked and leaning to one side, peppered now with impact points reminiscent of a heavy shell bombardment. The seat of power for the United States seemed as abandoned now as a seafront in December as it stood leaning and beaten, where once the Des Moines Botanical Gardens had previously existed.  

Corey Stopped and looked upwards; the shadow of a hanged man swung gently in the evening breeze; hanging from the arm of a rusting crane. The executed man’s body had been pecked almost clean by reanimated buzzards that sat perched on the jib by their prize.  

Corey Black: Who the fuck was that poor bastard? 

Crow kept his head bowed as he continued to walk, a show of respect for a lost family member.  

Crow McMorris: Vincent Bartholomew Roman: Speaker of the house of representatives. A fine man in this universe. So the records say. 

Corey Black: Fuck. This world is some kind of hell, Crow. What are we here? Ghosts? Phantoms?  

Crow McMorris: We’re...split. Remember that Star Trek episode with Good and Bad Kirk? That’s as simple as I can make it. We’re like a beam of light shined through a prism. We’ve been carved up.    

Corey felt light headed as he walked, contemplating the ramifications of the ordeal.  

Corey Black: How long. How long have we got? 

Crow McMorris: Try not to think about it. We need to push on. You hear that? 

Corey Black: Hear what? 

Crow McMorris: Nothing. Hopefully thats a good sign. Been a long time since we’ve had any damn luck. 

Night had fallen across to the Necrosphere; and with it a strange peace Crow had not known since his arrival here several days previous. The undead Kaiju above had gone, called though the multidimensional gate to protect Dethfort in our universe; this allowed the two friends to transverse the city with something close to ease. Their clothes still drenched however with the blood of the undead, but fit and healthy otherwise.  

The two men from another universe approached the seat of the capital. Crow removed a katana from a shoulder holster as Corey made do with a baseball bat spiked with a crude array of six inch nails.  

Corey Black: You know, I can carry a sword now. I’ve been practicing.  

Crow McMorris: What? With “Mistah Tea and Crumpets”? Forget it; stick to what you actually know.  

Corey Black: See, this is why you never fitted into Pantheon. Always with that fucking chip on your shoulder.  

Crow McMorris: Look who’s talking “The Pantheon”, I had to listen to Jeff Purse scream your fucking name into my lughole for a whole hour straight. You owe me big time for that! By the way,“Thanks Crow for saving my life from my evil, alternate universe self that on retrospect isn’t all that different from me actually”, Yeah, you’re welcome...asshole.. 

Corey just rolled his eyes. 

Corey Black: Look, forget that. Can we just get on this please? Tell me again. Why did they move The White House? 

Crow McMorris: By the time this Universe’s Corey Black had reached his eighteenth birthday he had obtained the powers of a God. That megalomaniac side of you was turned up all the way to eleven by then. Consumed by whatever force lived inside of him. You...he’d become insane. Willing to do anything, to anyone, if they displeased him. Before you arrived I visited the Pantheon Museum in Jasper County; it’s all about “The Great War”: seems “Other You” created an evil version of Pantheon here to subdue the country and keep all the “terrorists” in line. You know, like the Pantheon you have now back home.  

Corey Black: Hilarious.   

Crow McMorris: Pantheon here was about murdering scientists and freethinkers. Fake news types that dared to stand up to “President Black”. 

Corey Black: President Black? I like it. Note to self.  

Crow glared at Corey. 

Crow McMorris: Don’t make me kill you. Seems President Black moved The White House here though sheer force of will. Even for a monster like Creeping Death, Washington is just too rich for his blood. 

Corey Black: Force of will? He’s that powerful? 

Crow slowly nodded.  

Crow McMorris: Trust me, I’ve had a rough couple of days.  

Crow used his blade to slice away the vines that blocked their path before entering the Executive Mansion through a jagged blast point that was formerly occupied by a set of double doors. The weary travellers stepped over a carpet of dead and rotting fascistic dressed bodies that littered the reception area, skeletons belonging to former Pantheon members; each a black suited zealot draped with a red and white triangle on their arm, designed to symbolize their blind loyalty to their sworn God. Dried out membranes of long dead skin, contorted into rictus grins of agony while stretched tightly over rotting flesh. These were the final, chosen few, the last of mankind who eventually succumbed to Creeping Death’s infinite temper.  

Taylor Swift. Nikki Venus. Jonny Fly. Steve Orbit. Jayson Price. 

Corey Black: Fuck...how could I do this? 

Crow McMorris: That’s why we’re here, man. To find out.  

A moment later Crow instinctively stopped and extended his right arm to hold Corey from taking another step forward as they stood at the crumbling entrance to the Oval Office. 

Crow McMorris: Wait! Did you hear that?  

CLACK, CLACK! A pump action shotgun was loaded and levelled from the president's chair. It swivelled to reveal man in his mid thirties; long straggly hair that was graying before it's time. An eyepatch hanging over a dead left eye that barely conceals a long running scar from brow to chin. The man seemed expectant of Crow and Corey’s arrival. A husky laugh rising from his nicotine scorched throat as he rested a false metal leg on the resolute desk, rubbing the stomp that ached with the pain of an ancient amputation. 

Corey Black: Bishop? Is that you? 

Crow McMorris: You know this Yahoo? Lower the boomstick Snake Plisken. We’re here for the book. 

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: Of course you are.  

Corey Black: Book? What book? 

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: He means this one.  

Bishop pressed a button hidden beneath the resolute desk as a heavy oak panel in the curved wall opened; a fake section of a densely packed bookcase slid apart, revealing a doorway beneath that lead into a small, simple room. Two plinths rested a foot apart. A glass case on each. In one was the constitution of the United States. In the other...  

Crow McMorris: Necronomicon ex mortis 

Corey Black: The book of the dead? 

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: It’s too late. You won’t find what you’re looking for there. The book, It’s just a trinket now.  

Crow McMorris: We’ll see.  

Crow made a fist and smashed open the glass case, removing the Necronomicon and flicking through its pages; his face changed as he scanned the text, from resolute hope to utter confusion; eventually settling for anger. 

Crow McMorris: THE FUCK?! 

Crow threw the book to the oval office floor,, bounced off the Pantheon logo as it fell open. The Murder Machine reached over the resolute desk, grabbing The Plague of this universe by the lapel, lifting Bishop up from the president’s chair by his ripped army issue jacket with one flex of his arm. 

Crow McMorris: Where is it? Where’s the real book?  

Corey picked up the Necronomicon and scanned the pages. 

Corey Black: They’re blank? How? 

Bishop lifted the shotgun and placed the business end under the chin of Crow. A standoff.  

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: Lower me, deadman. Unless you wanna be on your hands and knees; searching for your face. 

Crow dropped Bishop back into the leather chair.  

Crow McMorris: Why are the pages blank. Tell me. Now.  

Bishop pours himself a shot of Tennessee whiskey from a presidential decanter.  

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: The real question you have to ask yourself is, how does a boy become a God? Those pages are blank because the arcane knowledge that was once bleed upon them found themselves a new host. An innocent life they could occupy and control. Check the wall. 

Corey turned to see a young soldier in his mid twenties shaking hands with President Ronald Reagan as he receives the medal of honor.   

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: Former Army Sergeant, Curtis Black; he fought once in a secret war thirty years ago; against an enemy you two know very well. A former hero from your universe, turned Dark Timekeeper named...Johnny Reb. 

Corey Black: Reb? 

Crow McMorris: When Reb was consumed by the energies of the Dark Timekeeper, he travelled from universe to universe; altering history and recreating the era of the Roman Empire; sacrificing men and women inside their own unique version of the colosseum. But that wasn’t thirty years ago in our time, that was three.  

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: Reb and Oblivion travelled through time and space. For you it was only three years ago. While here, in this universe, Reb and Oblivion arrived thirty years into our past. Twisting and shaping this reality to fit whatever perverted needs they desired.  

Crow McMorris: But Reb sacrificed himself for a new start. The time war is over.  

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: The war did end, true. But the multiverse didn’t snap back into shape completely. There were fissures left behind. Relics of the damage that Reb and Oblivion had caused. Things that should not be. Like the book.   

Corey Black: What does the Necronomicon have to do with my...with Creeping Death’s father? 

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: After the war, the U.S. Government began to discover the truth about the the Dark Timekeepers, they sent out teams to retrieve any artifacts that remained of their time here. Curtis Black found the book and brought it home. He was assigned to a team to study its power. But all the while, the book was studying him. And found a host, in his SON.   

Crow McMorris: Son of a bitch. 

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: A similar series of events that happened to your family, happened here Corey. This time, it was the book, not Creeping Death, that drove Curtis mad, then the Necronomicon offered to protect Corey from a half mad father. The boy was tricked into making a pact with the book. That was the day Creeping Death was born. An undying God that grew and became “President Black”. The insane leader of the free world. 

Crow McMorris: Insane leader of the free world? We already have one of those back home. 

Corey Black: How the fuck do you know all this? 

Bishop reached into his army issue jacket and produced a notebook, the leather cover inscribed with a single letter “K”.  

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: This was my lovers notebook. Karma foresaw your arrival; The deadman and the reflection. One arrived from the Catacombs. One from the fires of Explosion.Sentenced here by the face of the devil. She foresaw it all, even her own death, the one event he couldn’t change. This book was her gift to me. Her legacy was giving me a chance to survive. I’ve known every move Creeping Death has made; she kept me alive and invisible for years. But above all, she had a vision on how to get you home.  

Bishop hauls himself up to his feet; a deep exhale as the damaged Plague drags his prosthetic leg over to the secret room; smashes the glass case with a clenched first, a trickle of blood running down the constitution. The words on the page changing from, “Liberty and Justice for all”, to ancient arcane text.  

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: Trust Creeping Death to hide an escape plan within the constitution.  

Bishop whispers an incantation beneath his breath.The Oval office shakes as the four walls of reality begin to break apart; fractures within space and time tearing asunder the White House to reveal shards of an empty black void beneath. A moment later the catacombs of Dethfort are built; constructed from the howls of nothingness.  

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: I can’t follow you two back. But there’s something you pair of idiots need to know. Your Bishop, his blood contains the power to contain the beast. I faced Creeping Death during his rise and it cost me dearly. I misread the prophecy and lost my leg and eye in the battle. Your Bishop though, he is one my Karma foresaw; he is your salva-- 

An explosion rocks the delicate balance between universes. A fireball tearing through the catacomb as our universes, “The Plague” Kevin Bishop dives and rolls from a grenade thrown by The Scarecrow; the Necrotic warrior surging forward with Alexander Richards by his side. Scarecrow unsheathes his broadsword as he swings an inch away from aa rocked and confused Kevin Bishop as this Necrosphere counterpart screams his final orders.  

Alternative Universe Kevin Bishop: Crow! The portal is destabilizing! Fight for your place in this universe. Help Bishop here...save-- 

Another grenade rocks the portal again as Corey kicks Crow out from the kaleidoscopic light of the trans-dimensional corridor. Crow McMorris rolls on his back into the heart of battle. His return to the real world somewhat inauspicious as he rolls on his back, but vital as Scarecrow brings the broadsword high into the air, ready to decapitate this universe's Kevin Bishop as--  

CLANG! Broadsword meets Katana! Crow McMorris verses Scarecrow!  

Crow McMorris: Lucky is the man that can exorcise his demons. Care to test your metal? 

The Scarecrow: You cannot survive. The days of sin, follow the wind… 

Crow McMorris:..with promises to keep. 

Scarecrow swung the broadsword casually by his side with a whoosh of controlled menace. Slicing the air with infinite precision as he closed in on his heroic reflection. Crow circled his mirror image, arching his katana high above his head, his stance practiced and honed by samurai over thousands of years as he glared into the eyes of himself and waited, poised to strike.  

The Scarecrow spat out a guttural laugh as Kevin Bishop speared Alexander Richards to the floor, unleashing a volley of punches and kicks on the Duke as Scarecrow scythed the air with his blade, while Crow waited, and waited, for what seemed like an eternity, until his back foot kicked his huge frame forward; the Murder Machines body sidestepping the attack, leaping into the air and DECAPITATING SCARECROW!  

Crow landed gracefully as the head of his doppelganger rolled on by.  

Crow McMorris: There can be only ONE. 

The portal closed behind Crow as he stood up. He had had made it home, but Corey was trapped back at the Necrosphere. At Crow’s feet was his split half, glowing now with an unnatural blue sheen as sparks of lightning rand across the rains of the Scarecrow, transforming into pure energy as Crow absorbed his dark half; an arch of electrical current slamming into the body of Alexander Richards as he was sent hurtling backwards into the air, Bishop diving out of the way with microseconds to spare.  

Crow McMorris: Sorry old friend. Kevin Bishop? 

Crow extended his hand and lifted the Plague to his feet. 

Crow McMorris: The name’s Crow. And we have much to discuss.  

IX

The Call Of The Kremlin  

Written by John Rabid 

DETHWAR: DAY 5 

When Boris Yeltsin was murdered his fading eyesight could only make out a mosaic of connections to his killer. The elegant stranger was English, his cologne, a brand commonly used by masons. The voice and stature of this effete murderer had a natural swagger and confidence to him that would indicate good breeding. The man’s blue eyes bore a strange serenity to them, it was as if this killer wanted the execution to unfold as calmly, and peacefully as possible. A sudden rush of nightmares that would enlarge a man’s heart and crush his ability to breathe. Yeltsin’s life slipped from him knowing however only one real, indelible fact. That the man that crawled inside his mind and crashed his senses was very good at his job. It would be an act however that would echo long after Yeltsin's death, hounding John Rabid from his beloved London, exiled from savile row until such preparations could be made to adequately remove a cell of loyalists devoted to their former leader. Yeltsin was killed to prevent his secrets from blackmailing his student, Vladimir Putin; a sociopathic narcissist, a supreme soviet comfortable being seen riding around shirtless on the back of a prussian horse, whilst practicing his karate skills as the world winced and wondered if he really had the nuclear codes. For Kornilov however, he had more pressing concerns to consider. 

As the years fell by, most fell victim to The Ripper. All except one, a Russian navy commander named, Kornilov. His weary eyes locked onto garbled and grainy spy satellite footage as he sat shirtless inside his warm log cabin, a small, innocuous getaway hidden along the cost of the baltic. As the commander’s eyes strained to make sense of the devastation he was witnessing, the periphery of his vision would occasionally catch glimpses of a exact model of the WW1 Dreadnought class battleship; Petropavlovsk, that sat in deep eclipse on the desk, it’s imposing hull only briefly revealing it’s craftsmanship as explosions and chaos loomed from the laptop screen. Kornilov poured himself a neat shot of Stolichnaya Premium Red Vodka. The scars across his back and neck pulling taut as he downed the shot neat with a crestfallen realization. Soon, he would face his old enemy again, the man that had scarred his body and murdered his troops. The man that Putin hired to eradicate his former mentor. The man that now lead an army into battle against overwhelming odds; yet still had the audacity to believe he could succeed. 

“Such irony”, thought Kornilov as he received scrambled orders directly from Putin’s own secure server. The Commander was now tasked by his own sworn enemy (Putin) to kill his prized instrument of murder (Rabid) thus silencing the catalyst of Kornilov’s age of poverty and pain. Though Yeltsin, Kornilov was destined to die a king; now as he dressed and paid off the drunk, stumbling whore in his bed, Kornilov knew that he would die a pauper. But not before John Rabid tasted the cold embrace of death. And the bitter sting of revenge. 

Twenty four hours later, the northern fleet was under Kornilov’s command. It was a pyrrhic victory even before the Борислав set sail. To do the bidding of one enemy in order to kill another, but still, the act of eradicating Rabid would wipe away the horror of Minsk; and the humiliation he had suffered there. A heavy left shoulder rained medals of valor across the commander’s chest as he approached his battle station deep within the bowels of the kremlin; a holographic projection of the amassed fleet moving swiftly forward to intercept Rabid’s forces in Denmark. The commander was assured of more accolades if Rabid’s head could be brought back to the emerging new iron curtain. Of course, no easy task, but this time; Kornilov had the full might of the Russian Navy behind him, and even with all the guile and cunning of The Ripper. No one can stand up against those odds, and survive.  

Not even a Serpent, with his hand upon the fate of the world. 

*** 

COMMANDER JOHN RABID WAR JOURNAL: DAY 6 

“Outpost one has been set up. We're encountering strong resistance from "infected residents" on site. Creeping Death appears to be testing our resources. However we're holding our own, thanks to Erik's assistance with weapons and troops. One of our team joked that our forward command post at Skagen resembles the 4077th from M*A*S*H, he's not wrong, but our BIG DOG robot sentries flown in from Boston Dynamics (out-rigged with chain guns) makes for a nice twist.”  

“Wade has finally arrived. He’s on-board "The Leviathan" a converted Oil Tanker. It's his new floating Eden. Thankfully, it's not as passive as that particular paradise. With Wade’s arrival we'll begin co-ordinating our final offensive using recent geothermic scans of the tectonic plates beneath Dethfort as a basis for a ground incursion, coupled with Wade’s arcane knowledge of the deep. A skill that perturbs even me If I am to be honest. Godnilla’s powers have grown exponentially over the last few months. I wonder, is there a limit to what he can achieve?.” 

“These last few days have an illuminating experience in regards to our enemy. He sends bile riddled text messages; vine clips showcasing yet another public execution of a Dethfort Villager, dressed as former, and current, WCF stars.It has become clear since this conflict began that Creeping Death DESPISES the WCF, he considers it his prison. A bottomless pit where he was forced to fight for fifteen years, winning titles for a man who outgrew his reliance on his "Darker Half". Creeping Death has been trapped, sentenced to an eternity as a puppet. And he would have remained so, if not for his cunning escape after the "King of the Death Match" tournament, where he managed to evade the control of Nikki Venus, and begin to plot this coup, slowly taking over Corey's mind, setting himself free though a doorway between life and death, hidden among the catacombs beneath the fort.” 

Last night I received a scrambled message from an unexpected source; it’s location triangulated back to the catacombs of Dethfort itself. It would appear that we have the final piece of the puzzle already in place and ready to execute our final gambit. It’s now time to roll the dice. All, or nothing. With the influx of the dead swarming in from the Bell tower I fear we have little choice left but to go all out. Recklessness be damned, I want my son to grow up free and safe. This is the burden of parenthood, but also of patriotism. I love my country. I love my family. Threaten either? And the penalty will be severe. And absolute.” 

*** 

The Hercules C-130 nicknamed “The Herse”, departed the motorway near Skagen as the wounded and the dead were airlifted back to a world of mourning loved ones and grieving families. On board was the remains of Adrian Archer; his death was a tragedy, a casualty of war, lost under the command of Erik Black, an exhausted and browbeaten man who drank to forget his disastrous sortie into enemy territory to destroy the bell tower; it’s tall, imposing spire at the base of Dethfort remained standing and resolute as more and more undead flooded in from it’s unholy gateway, eager to take the place of those that had fallen at the hands of Rabid’s ever dwindling force. Dion Necurat and his “Ambulance Service “ was coping as best they could, but the odds were growing ever more stacked against them. And it was all about to get a lot more complicated. 

“Commander, Rabid?” Jordan Rayburn’s voice echoed over The Ripper’s Walkie-Talkie. Rabid knew by the WCF’s voice things were not good, his assumptions proving correct as Rayburn’s mobile Suit Infantry had spotted a school of Yasen-class submarines in route during a random patrol. The Subs were of Russian design and closing in fast. Rabid looked out over a swirling, unsettled ocean from the vantage point of a crumbling local Church; it's cracked altar still stained with the blood of Archer after a round from the chamber of his Glock 19 had silenced the Magnificent Bastard’s zombified corpse an hour before it began a non-eventual trip home.  

Commander John Rabid: Yasen-class? Those are Russian attack submarines. Inform Wade and his new best friend to stand ready. I want the Leviathan on high alert. Bonnie? 

Bonnie Blue: Yes? 

Commander John Rabid:I need Andre and Erik to co-ordinate the defences .THE CAPTAIN and Rayburn are to handle the forward line from their Mobile suits, Creeping Death will surely attempt to take advantage. We need to prepare now for a full scale aerial bombardment. 

Bonnie called as she called Skagen base. Rabid received a secure communique from an “old friend”; the radio channel had Russian high command written all over it. A statement of intent.  

Admiral Kornilov: Hello, John. Valiant work you have undertaken here.  

Rabid smirked at the sound of Kornilov’s voice.  

Commander John Rabid: Personally, I expected you sooner. I take it Vladimir’s direct orders? 

No answer.  

Commander John Rabid: Thank you for your clarity, Admiral Kornilov. Prepare to surrender.  

Admiral Kornilov’s laughter echoed across the walkie-talkie speaker. 

Admiral Kornilov: Orders from the Kremlin are to sanitize this zone, John. This outbreak must be contained at all costs. But I’m sure you already understand the stakes. Take heart however in the fact that the Russian people will be forever grateful for you and your teams supreme sacrifice in this matter.  

A slither of evil raised the corner of The Ripper’s mouth as he unspooled his retort.  

Commander John Rabid: Minsk was your first mistake, Admiral. I allowed you the privilege of surviving that encounter, under the proviso that you would spread the events of your clemency as a warning others. Now you call me and threaten my operation? Your second mistake. No possibility of clemency this time.  

Admiral Kornilov: Little Wolf, look at the odds. Make peace with your family… 

Rabid snarled.  

Commander John Rabid: I would offer you the same, old man. But your family is dead! Prepare to join them! 

Rabid killed the call.  

Bonnie Blue: Jesus. The Russian Navy and Creeping Death? Tell me this is part of the plan. 

Rabid didn’t answer.

X

FROM THE DEPTHS A DARKNESS 

By Kaz Mazy and Wade Moor

v/iolence 

v/iolence 

v/iolence 

Beneath the barreling waves and the hulking metal frame of The Leviathan perched Admiral Kornilov's small fleet of reconnaissance fleet. The skeleton crew aboard the Submarines worked overtime attempting to penetrate Skagen’s ocean defenses, but to no avail. Captain Nikolay didn't note concern until their technology began to fail in their vessel during comm with Kornilov. Radars were first to go, followed by the radios.  

Makir, Nikolay's chief engineer couldn't find any malfunction in the equipment other than they had betrayed their purpose to the Motherland. Nikolay - and everyone else on board Борислав - knew that it was only a matter of time until the rising cabin pressure forced the air from their lungs and the soul from their bodies unless they escaped from their DISSUB.  

As they were gearing up for their dispersion, one of the ensigns fell to the floor clutching his throat, and several others rushed to his aid. Nikolay watched as the poor man turned blue, his vital organs began to shut down, and the last breath left his still body. He signaled for the rest of the crew to immediately finish suiting up to leave, but none of them saw the ensign return to his feet.  

A bloodcurdling screamed rocked the cramped room like a hurricane as the newly risen ensign ripped his teeth into the nearest hunk of meat it could find. It tore the flesh from her neck like an animal and a fresh jettison of blood sprayed across the tight quarters, finding it's way over the rest of the crew. The ensign charged the next person, who was defenseless against this creature from fresh hell, and it tore into him all the same.  

Nikolay was the first down the small hallway, the rest of his crew in tow, now yelling for their lives, praying to their gods that it didn't get them next. A high pitched shout at the back of the line told him that it had found it's new target, and a bloody gurgle confirmed this thought. Nikolay made it through the door first...then quickly turned on his heels, slamming the hatch closed behind him and spinning it shut tight. His 1st Lieutenant Konstantin eyes locked on him through the small glass port, his middle finger rocketing into view as he turned on his attacker and a fresh mist of crimson obscured Nikolay's view. 

He thrust the helmet onto his high pressure diving suit and fastened it into place before opening the final hatch, flooding the room with water. The water rushed in quicker than he was prepared for and it scooped him out of the cabin into the cold dark ocean. The heads up display on his mask refused to power on, but the lights built in around his mask illuminated. Even with the lights, seeing any measure of distance in front of him was near impossible, so he floated in the abyss, allowing the suits natural buoyancy to carry him to the surface.  

Nikolay only began to panic when he saw bubbles appearing in front of his face. He grunted as a ghostly pale hand reached up towards him and the necrotic face of Konstantin stared back at him through the glass, his right hand fashioned into the rigorous shape the body took upon death. He felt a hand reach into his gut as several more pairs of hands gripped onto him in the darkness.  

A silent scream echoed throughout the chasm as Nikolay was ripped apart by tooth and nail.  

v/iolence 

v/iolence 

v/iolence 

Wade Moor: Open the eye of truth...there is nothing to fear. 

Kaz Mazy: What da fawk you on about now gros?  

The large man in the Tommy Bahama put his meaty hands down on the edge of the ship, looking out into the water below him. The sun began to fall on the horizon, illuminating the waters edge a brilliant orange and purple hue, though a dark cloud hung heavy over The Leviathan's head.  

Wade Moor: Something I used to hear in a dream. Lately, I haven't heard much.  

Kaz Mazy: Summin your mon or pa used to say? 

Wade Moor: Nah, they didn't say much. 

Kaz Mazy: Words are overrated. Paltry things. People be puttin' way too much stock in em anyway, furreal. Actions what matters. 

Wade Moor: Maybe you're right, Young Kazward. Maybe, inde...What the fuck is that? 

The expression on Wade's face changed from an immeasurable amount of bliss in the moment to one of instant concern. Anxiety streaked through the eyes of Godnilla as he looked over the side of the ship into the cold ocean below. Kaz joined him, dipping his small frame over the side for a quick peak. 

Kaz Mazy: MAN OVERBOARD! 

Wade Moor: Dev, the net! 

Wade called to his second in command for assistance and Dev had the crew lower the retrieval net over the side of the ocean. The net sunk below the surface, underneath the body floating in the waves. The net pulled the man out of the water and over the side of the ship, dropping the object to the deck of the ship, causing an alarming number of the crew to turn their heads and retch. The shredded torso rolled over and it's guts spilled out of it's side underneath the rib cage.  

The duo moved in on the torso and knealt down next to it, inspecting it closely. 

Kaz Mazy: Ruskie, by the looks of the uniform. Da fawk is dat doe? 

Wade checked the area of the body Kaz was pointing at, a large tear in the side of his shirt. 

Kaz Mazy: Ain't no creature of da deep did that, Mooro.  

Wade Moor: Human teeth. We're not alone here anymore.  

Kaz Mazy: Fawk me. What's the plan then? 

Wade Moor: These unholy denizens of the deep want to step foot into the Church of the Dark Tide? 

Kaz Mazy: Yuh? 

Wade Moor: Then we set out Communion my child, and baptize them in blood.  

A savage screech rang out from the ledge of the ship as someone boarded the boat, it's head down at an angle.  

Wade Moor: Away from the edge! NOW! Draw weapon and prepare to fight! 

Before any of them could take up defensive posture, pairs of ghastly arms reached up and over the edge of The Leviathan as a couple dozen of the rotting dead corpses began to board the ship. The one already on board reached it's hands out, grabbing the closest member of The Church, pulling him in close for the kill. The other members didn't need to see what happened next as they all drew on blades set in scabbards on their belts.  

Kaz unsheathed his katana, kissing the handle before wielding it in defensive stance as the rest of the creatures made their way up and overboard. The undead quickly descended on their front line of defense, tearing through them as if they were merely paper. The second line began to shove their blades into the creatures orbitals, dropping them like flies before they were in turn rushed upon and torn limb from limb.  

Wade Moor: To your left, Kaz! 

Kaz immediately shifted in stance as one of the beasts rushed on him, side stepping and lifting his blade, slicing the tip of the monsters noggin clean off his body. It fell in a heap on the ground as Kaz performed a quick slice and dice on the second creature, felling him in equally precise fashion. 

Wade Moor: Damn, son. 

Kaz turned back towards Wade, winking before pointing out that he had one of the creatures coming down on him as well. Wade smiled and turned as the brute of a monster walked towards him, teeth snarling, smeared with blood and skin fragments from one of the fallen Dark Tide zealots. The creature lunged at Wade, but he back trotted and booted the monster in the knee cap, cracking it's leg out from underneath it. It hit the deck face first, and Wade brought his boot down for the coup de gras, spilling the poor soulless cretin's gray matter out of the side of it's cracked skull.  

Kaz Mazy: Yuck. 

More of the creatures began to crawl up and over the sides of the ship, rushing on the members of the Dark Tide, overtaking them in sheer volume. Wade began to panic as his flock was ripped in half, figuratively and literally.  

Wade Moor: Dev! Take whoever you can below deck, Kaz and I will have to finish this! 

Devon Rose: But Master... 

Wade Moor: Now Dev! I'm not losing any more of my parish to these Godnilla-less heathens! Take them! NOW! 

Devon was stunned by his lords words, but honor them he did. He shepherded the remaining crew below deck and out of the hot zone. As the undead finished their meals, their cold, unfeeling eyes turned towards the only living creatures in sight. 

Wade Moor: To the top deck, Kaz! We have to move! 

The two took off down the length of the deck, the horrific screeching of the undead behind them in tow. Several of the quicker creatures managed to close in on them, but Kaz dispatched them with a quick flick of his sharp, lightweight blade. Up a set of stairs the two went, a horde of the creatures came within distance of them, but Wade ripped the restraints from equipment tied on the deck. The natural sway of the boat sent the equipment reeling towards the horde, knocking them back down the stairs, off the side of the ship, and eventually crushing a few of them under the weight of the cases. The destruction only caused a seconds leeway, allowing Kaz to spot a ladder. 

Kaz Mazy: The Crow's Nest! 

Wade Moor: What the fuck. 

Kaz Mazy: You gotta better plan? 

Wade Moor: No...I just really hate that fuckin' name. 

Kaz was the first up the ladder, followed closely by Wade...but something happened as Wade went for the rung. He let go, stopped in his tracks, and turned back towards the army of nightmare creatures barreling down upon them.  

Kaz Mazy: Wade? Da fawk man?! We gotta go! 

Wade was impenetrable, Kaz's shouting fell on deaf ears. Wade stopped in place, eyes out towards the undead.  

Kaz Mazy: Fawk it. 

Kaz turned on the ladder and leaped off, unsheathing his sword as he did. He hit the ground and started swinging, fighting in multiple styles in regards to each particular enemies size and weight. The situation aboard The Leviathan was beginning to unglue. Wade stood in paralysis, as if his mind were completely elsewhere as Kaz did his best to stave off the incoming hoard of monsters.  

Kaz Mazy: Wade...snap outta it brother!  

No words seemed to penetrate the black cloud hanging over Wade's head.  

Kaz Mazy: It's just ghosts, brother! Open the eye of truth... 

Wade's hazy eyes became clear in an instant. 

Kaz Mazy: There is nothing to fear. 

A deep boom echoed around the hull as a shockwave resounded through the surface of the water. Wade began to say something, an utterance at first that transcended into a bellowing, guttural roar of an incomprehensible language. His pupils flickered into the back of his head as his tirade ended and another deep boom was heard underneath them.  

Kaz Mazy: Wha' da fawk was dat? 

Wade looked up towards Kaz, a smile plastered across his confident face. 

Wade Moor: Unleash The Leviathan. 

Large, ethereal tentacles started to rise up around the sides of the ship, wrapping the individual undead from the deck and – with one tight squeeze of their monstrous grip - rent them into nothing but a mist of blood and organs. One by one this happened, hundreds of tentacles swooped down on the ship and plucked them off one by one, eventually rendering the entire ship completely devoid of the creatures. Kaz's katana fell to the deck as the tentacles dropped back down below the surface of the water and a massive boom felt down to core of his being signaled the behemoth's swift exit. 

Kaz Mazy: Wha – holy – Jam Willy that - … 

He fell down to a knee, releasing the contents of his stomach on the deck of the ship. Wade approached him from behind and Kaz stood quickly back up to his feet. 

Kaz Mazy: Wha' in da name of Jam Willy was dat fawkin' thing man? Wha' happened to ya, man? I thought you were done! 

Wade just stood there, looking out over the railing at the edge of Denmark as the sun dropped all the way below the horizon. 

Kaz Mazy: Wha' now man?  

A slight chuckle from Godnilla as he pointed towards land. 

Wade Moor: We're going to kill Death, my Kaz.  

The chuckle turned into an all out raucous laughter from Wade as Kaz stares on at him, his face contorted into an expression of unbridled confusion.  

v/iolence 

v/iolence 

v/iolence 

Later; as the Russian armada lied broken and listless in Dethfort harbour; a communique was sent from Admiral Kornilov:  

_____ Безопасный канал ______ 

Hello, Jason. 

You played your hand well, Little Wolf.   

I have been informed by Putin himself to offer assistance.  

You now hold the aces.  

I prey you do not squander this opportunity.  

Let us triumph. 

For the fate of mankind. 

_____ Безопасный канал ______ 

Rabid’s reply was cursory, yet tempered with the kind of detente John was specialized in. In truth, the Russian's departure was just another expected piece removed from the board. The real prize however still remained, tomorrow would bring that final dance with Creeping Death, one final dawn to end the nightmare. 

XI

AND THE SKIES SHALL SCREAM THEIR NAME 

By John Rabid 

DETHWAR: FINAL DAY 

@theripper 

This will be the last communique on this channel. 

As dawn breaks the skies will witness our final assault on Dethfort. Before we strike, I just want to say a few words.  

It has been an honor to serve with you all these past few days. No matter what we think of ourselves away from the field of battle, here and now, we are one. Tonight, when the tower of babel above calls for our heads, do not hesitate to take theirs. This is a war for life itself. We fight for each new heartbeat. Each new sunrise. We fight so that our children may know long and meaningful lives. We fight for those that never will. We fight for glory. We fight for peace. 

There is an old Viking poem, I believe it goes thus: 

stand fast 

raise your warrior arm 

in splendour and dissent 

carve the path 

besieged on all sides; 

the penance of deviance 

awaits with open arms 

embrace the battle cry 

let it ring in the ears 

of your foes and their kin 

fulfill the oathes 

uphold all that is good 

in a world of devilment 

that crawls beneath the skin 

You are a Viking 

in this life and the next 

do not falter 

Do not falter. Stand true and firm. We will win this day. 

Good. Day. 

Three of the AH-64’s remained, their battle scarred hulls patched up by overworked and understaffed ground crews as the birds ran through their pre flight checks. The choppers were desperation personified, lined up in a row outside of Skagen’s town hall. The few Hellfire missiles that remained were strapped to the birds, each missile a final act of defiance as the other crews turned and faced their crimson rotored leader, waiting patiently for it’s pilot to give the order for takeoff. John Rabid sat at the controls, to his left was Bonnie Blue, while seated behind them were THE CAPTAIN and Andre Holmes; manning the communication systems; THE CAPTAIN’S eyes carrying the haunted expression of a hero who had seen too much as a Concerned Andre looked on. Rabid gave his tag partner a friendly dig in the arm as Bonnie smirked.  

Commander John Rabid: What? 

Bonnie Blue: I just find it funny. The terrifying Serpent. The nightmare of God. Playing good Samaritan? I wonder, how long is it going to last? 

Rabid didn’t answer; he simply returned to his checks. 

Bonnie Blue: We could die today. How do you feel being remembered a hero?  

Rabid’s response was deadpan and dripping with acidic irony.  

Commander John Rabid: I’m simply salivating with the possibility.  

A thunder roared above as the rotors began to turn.  

Bonnie Blue: He’s still in there.  

Commander John Rabid: What? 

Bonnie Blue: The good man you could be. I hope he doesn’t fail me. When the time comes.  

Rabid remained expressionless as he pulled back on the stick. Adjusted his headset as he spoke into the microphone.  

Commander John Rabid: This is Rabid to all teams. Begin your final assault. 

*** 

Deep within the bowels of Dethfort are a maze of catacombs, its walls have no stone masonry; instead they’re comprised of the skulls and bones of glorious viking dead; the bricks and mortar of this terrifying monolith. So the legend goes that they have become part of Valhalla; one with the afterlife of warriors.Crouched within the alcove, Crow McMorris and Kevin Bishop wired the final set of explosives that would rock the tectonic plates. Causing the Bell tower above to fall out of sync for the necrosphere; sealing the doorway to that decaying universe. 

Crow McMorris: So how long? 

Kevin Bishop: What? 

Crow McMorris: How long where you People’s champ? 

Kevin Bishop: I was one week off smashing Teo’s record.  

Crow McMorris: That explains it. 

Kevin Bishop: Explains what? 

Crow McMorris: The haunted look in your eyes.  

Kevin smirked as three guards turned a corner. Crow stood upright, masking the presence of Bishop. Crow was dressed in Scarecrows biomechanical armor; his eyes rolled back to mirror his now assimilated counterpart. 

Crow McMorris: This sector is clear. Inform Lord Death there are no rats beneath Dethfort.  

The guards nodded and departed.  

Crow McMorris: Charges rigged? 

Kevin Bishop: All set. 

Crow McMorris: Good. Then let’s make our way to the throne room. See if your cracked mirror was right. 

“Hey!” 

As Crow turned a corner he latched eyes onto Buddy Roman and Buddy Creek, both sharing a jail Cell; Gilligan the raccoon was dangling a set of keys in front of The Shape while chuckling to himself, which only infuriated the manager and Grandfather of Crow as Creek’s type two Diabetes flared up, carrying with it a pungent aroma that wafted strong, even in this dank environment.  

Crow McMorris: Let me guess, you asked for Australia? 

Roman shrugged. 

Buddy Roman: My dimwitted yet useful child, tell me, who doesn't love beachfront property? 

Crow simply rolled his eyes. 

Kevin Bishop: The People’s championship… 

Crow McMorris: It’s a curse. 

*** 

The three AH-64’s dodged and weaved through a sky blackened by a sea of screaming hate. Creeping Death had travelled the multiverse, scouring planets for signs of life he could consume and reanimate; not just human life, ALL LIFE; in this case the squadron of leather skinned SAURON’S: dragon like beasts that had putrid green and black scales and burning yellow eyes. These undead monsters were capable of flight; harnessed and ridden by a team of expert dragoons; lead by their leader and horseman, KARMA. 

The saurons crash dived as they circled the last of the AH-64’s. Red Two and Red Three had perished by Karma’s hand, her unnatural blade slicing open the hull of the attack helicopters with magic induced ease as they approached Dethfort. Now, it was Rabid’s turn to suffer a similar fate. 

Commander John Rabid: Andre! THE CAPTAIN! GO! GO! GO!  

The side doors of the AH-64 exploded off their hinges as Cap and Andre fired grappling hooks into the backs of two approaching Sauron's, the two seasoned warriors left from the comparative safety of the helicopter and winched themselves to their targets, displacing the dragoon pilots with swift right hands and assuming control of the beats leather reins, the creature’s undead minds suddenly tempered by a strange soothing presence that emanated from the chopper. Rabid’s little secret, just between you and me.  

Commander John Rabid: Crow! Bishop! Blow the charges!  

A second later, Dethfort was rocked by a primary set of explosions that cracked open the tectonic plates beneath the castle. An angry maze of white hot magma ran like burning blood through the veins of the structures sub basement; the foundations of the building engulfed by a roar of undead as the holding area for reinforcements became a mass cremation site as thousands of waiting undead soldiers perished within the flames.  

Bishop and Crow lit cigars and proceeded to decimate a corridor of undead as they made their fateful way to the throne room and a date with death. 

*** 

Karma screamed as she dived once more at Rabid’s AH-64; swinging her electric blue sword while her unique abilities blocked Rabid’s focused attempts to unsettle her mind.  

Bonnie Blue: Any luck?  

Rabid shook his head.  

Bonnie Blue: Right then. 

Bonnie pulled a pin on the chopper’s door as the co-pilot’s side of the attack chopper exploded off it’s hinges! Bonnie diving and landing on the back of Karma’s pet monster. The daughter wasted no time, delivering hard rights and lefts to Karma as the insane Horseman pulled back on the reins of her steed and span the beast upside down. Bonnie hanging on for dear life as Karma righted her dragon while headbutting her unwanted passenger. Bonnie retaliated however by raking Karma’s eyes! Karma screamed as she lost control, the Sauron diving towards the battlements of Dethfort, collapsing and tumbling in a heap as it landed hard, breaking first it’s wings, then it’s neck as it scraped across a solid stone rooftop; blood oozing from its mortal wounds. Karma was pinned now beneath the monster’s still, unbreathing belly. The dark queen screamed to be released but Bonnie didn’t oblige, she simply punched Karma’s lights out and gave Rabid the thumbs up.  

Commander John Rabid: Okay, John. Now it’s your turn. Wade! Bring these heretics the blessing of the deep! 

ON BOARD THE LEVIATHAN 

Wade Moor stood on the deck of his beloved church, the massive ship was surrounded by the floating husks of a once proud and mighty fleet, now the domain of monsters that should never had been disturbed from their eternal slumber. Licks of orange flame illuminated the morning sky as Kaz could only watch on and tremble as Wade’s eyes turned solid black, his arms outstretched as he ‘spoke’ with the Kaiju that were encamped around the castle, parting and succumbing to Godzilla's demands.   

Wade Moor: I CAN HEAR YOU, MY BROTHERS! KNEEL! AND WORSHIP AT THE FEET OF YOUR LORD! HEAR MY VOICE! KNOW MY LOVE! 

Kaz Mazy: Dis Nigguh’s crazy. 

*** 

The Kaiju parted as Rabid finally had a clear run at his target. He reached inside his flight jacket and squeezed a photograph of Emily and Dorian one last time before slamming the stick forward; that laconic smirk as he fired the last of his hellfire missiles, ploughing the copter into the throneroom of Dethfort itself!  

KERRRRR-KRASH! 

Rabid kicked out the glass canopy of the copter as he climbed out of the vehicle through his newly made exit, the AH-64, still lodged into the wall of the castle, it’s rear hanging out of the spire, below it was the battlements that Bonnie had once stood, but she was now running; joining up with Crow and Bishop as all three made their way up a narrow stairwell that lead towards the throne room.  

Rabid wiped a slither of blood from his cheek as he stood upright; he unsheathed a sword cane and circled a shocked Creeping Death. 

Commander John Rabid: Creeping Death I presume?  

Creeping Death regained his composure, he smirked while patting down some irritant flames that licked his black biomechanical armor. Creeping Death’s face was altering now, white war paint masking his Corey Black’s features with a masque of grim white death. 

Creeping Death: The Serpent himself. I thought you had more manners than this! Look at what you’ve done to the place! It’s a disgrace. 

Commander John Rabid: It’s an instillation.  

Creeping Death: I’ve always wondered, John. Just how powerful are you? I’ve visited universes, mighty civilizations that were dead before my arrival, just to see your handy work up close. I’m something of a fan.    

Commander John Rabid: It’s a little late for a hang out.  

Creeping Death: Yes, I suppose it is.  

Creeping Death called forth a broadsword from null-space, a pocket universe usually reserved for time travelers and Gods. The blade dwarfed Rabid’s slender Rapier as Creeping Death leaped forward, but Rabid was ready, he spin kicked his opponent backwards with a thunderous impact. Yet Creeping Death seemed unperturbed as he simply ignored the rules of gravity and righted himself in mid air! It was Creeping Death’s turn now as he torpedo dived back towards Rabid, knocking The Ripper off his feet, or so he thought!  

Creeping Death put on the breaks as his foe had now become an invisible enemy. That thin, insignificant Rapier slashing the throat of Creeping Death, over and over again with precise bursts of intricate murder as Rabid appeared, then vanished, the sparks of his blade the only residue of his presence as Creeping Death screamed within a coffin of thick enveloping mist, constricting tighter and tighter like a giant coiled snake.  

Creeping Death staggered as Rabid dropped the Rapier, wrapping his hands around Creeping Death’s throat, blood gushing from a thousand wounds as Rabid squeezed, his voice hissing with unleashed bloodlust.  

Commander John Rabid: Yesssssssss…...just let go…….little Corey Black…..run home to father…..he’s waiting….he’s waiting… 

Bonnie Blue: John? 

Commander John Rabid: Bonnie! Stay back! 

Rabid instinctively turned, it was the split second Creeping Death needed as he sprang to his feet, wounds healing as he kicked Rabid with a huge burst of strength, The serpent was sent cannoning back towards the helicopter, Rabid’s spine slamming into the AH-64 as it slid out of the Throne room’s impacted wall, the twisted machine falling backwards with Rabid now along for the ride! 

Rabid was falling, hundreds of feet above the jagged rocks below, certain death awaited him as his arms flailed; unable to stop the descent. The ripper reached inside his flight jacket once more and squeezed the photograph of his family. All seemed lost as-- 

THE CAPTAIN swung his dragon beneath his tag part as Rabid reached out and grabbed on to the reins of the creature, pulling himself up  

THE CAPTAIN: YES! 

Commander John Rabid: Get us back up there, Cap! Bonnie, she’s alone! 

XII

THE DEATH OF TIME 

By Bonnie Blue 

A chill wind howled around the crumbling walls of the embattled castle, whistling through chinks between unmortared stones as it extinguished the feeble flames of torches ranged around the vast throne room; and the Daughter of Time found herself isolated, face to face with the shadowy figure of Creeping Death. With ominous grace, he crossed the broad limestone floor toward her, reaching into deepening shadows to withdraw a two-handed broadsword. The blade swung around and cleaved through the air where Bonnie Blue had stood a split second ago as she threw herself backward to avoid the blow. Quick reflexes shifted an awkward fall into an improvised back handspring, and Bonnie came to her feet, yanking a bulky handgun free from the holster strapped to her thigh. Taking aim, she squeezed off a trio of rounds in a quick burst and dove behind a chunk of fallen masonry for cover. 

Laughter, hollow and sardonic, echoed through the darkened hall. The experimental ammunition hadn't affected Creeping Death in the slightest; not that she'd expected it to. Lesser monsters had succumbed, certainly, but this was the Lord of the Necrosphere and unlikely to be put off by something as ordinary as bullets. The young woman dropped the clip from her weapon and reset it for sonic disruption. 

This ought to show your undead ass! she thought savagely as she popped from cover to take aim. 

He was there in an instant; so fast that her Time-augmented reflexes couldn't compensate. Before she had a chance to react, he backhanded the gun from her grip and sent it clattering somewhere far beyond her reach. One pale hand grasped the front of the kevlar vest, lifting her up until their eyes met: his, black as coal and empty; hers, vibrant blue and full of determination. Bonnie unhooked the vest's safety catch and slipped out of it, striking out with one leg as she hit the floor. Dodging the attempted sweep, Creeping Death responded with a thrust of the sword that backed the young blonde up against a wall. Malicious joy split his face in a cruel mockery of a grin as he prepared a killing stroke. Smoke like, the runic inscription danced along the length of the blade, with the sound of a thousand voices that whispered of torment everlasting. Bonnie Blue knew she had only one chance, that her timing would have to be perfect. 

The strike came -- lightning stabbed downward, blasting away part of a wall, where the bell tower loomed against the black sky -- Bonnie shot forward, under his reach and beyond; she moved as fast as her abilities allowed, but even Time can't outrun Death in his own domain. She stopped short as he took hold of her blonde braid and jerked back so that she fell hard to the flagstones. Sparks flew when the blade impacted against the floor as Bonnie kipped up and launched herself at Creeping Death with a lariat that he shrugged off. He reversed the sword and brought the pommel up under the young woman's chin; dazed, she staggered away from him, trying to clear her head. 

Leisurely, he stalked her with the patience of the inevitable. When she turned to square off with him, he spread his arms wide, gesturing in open invitation. The Time Witch didn't waste an instant. She charged in, trying for a hurricanrana, only to have it reversed into a backbreaker that robbed her lungs of breath as she hit the ground and found the swordpoint at her throat. 

"Time's up!" he told her, smirking. 

To his surprise, Bonnie Blue gave a half-smile to match his. 

"Not quite," she said, and thrust her left hand forward. 

In an instant, Creeping Death was swathed in a cocoon of null-time, slowing him into immobility. The young blonde sprang back to her feet, satisfied and a little cocky, as her face lit up in a triumphant grin. She tapped the mic at her throat. 

"Alpha team: Target is contained. I repeat -- Target is contained." 

She frowned at the lack of response and tried again. 

"Guys?" 

Static was the only answer. The sounds of gunfire still erupted now and again somewhere in the maze of corridors, but nothing indicated that the rest of the team was getting closer. Bonnie hesitated, then moved to the double oaken doors to take a look; she failed to notice cracks appearing in the stilled air surrounding the immobilized Creeping Death. The steady rhythm of approaching boot steps masked the stealthy sounds somewhere behind the young woman. 

An abrupt sense of shock, as if she'd brushed against a live wire, and a chill that spread through her body, stopped her at the threshold; and it was only the expression on John Rabid's face, as he rounded the corner with Crow McMorris at his heels, that alerted Bonnie at first that anything was wrong. Then her eyes fell on the ten inches of steel that protruded from her chest, dripping crimson on the stone at her feet. Distantly, she worried about who would clean it up, her mind still trying to grasp what had happened. A foot came to rest at her lower back, pushing as the blade pulled out, and she sank, coughing, to her knees. 

Strong arms swept her up. Crow's shocked expression hardened into one of righteous fury as he tore his eyes away from the dying woman and rushed past them in pursuit of Creeping Death. Bonnie clung to Rabid as a deep rumble rocked the ground beneath their feet, shuddered along the bedrock under the castle, and roiled forth outside in a fiery explosion that knocked the bell tower askew. The next one threatened to collapse the castle, too. Cradling the Daughter of Time in his arms, Rabid retreated swiftly from the unsteady structure to a distance he judged safe enough. There, he knelt and laid the young woman on the rocky ground. 

"John," Bonnie said, her voice low, weak. "I'm... afraid. 

"I know," he replied quietly. 

This wasn't how Bonnie Blue had envisioned her end. There had been a time, not long ago, she would have given good odds that John Rabid would have something to do with it -- but as cause or catalyst -- certainly not as a passive observer. Her thoughts were fractured, insensible. Images of the last couple of years flashed through her mind, but in no discernible order. And something else: Home. Meaningless. What was home? UCI? WCF? Didn't matter now. She took a ragged breath and let it out slowly, eyes closed as she tried to focus on something important that danced just out of conscious reach. Bonnie could feel Rabid tense beside her, the subtle shift of his weight as one hand went instinctively to the Sig-Sauer at his hip.  

"Tell me we did it, John," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.  

He glanced up and nodded at a column of smoke spiraling into the night sky, where once the sinister bell tower had stood. Bonnie followed his gaze. A delicate smile crept across bloodied lips, and she exhaled a relieved sigh. It was all right. She could go home now. Her oxygen-starved brain flung the word at her with desperate intent, over and over. Home? 

Home! she thought, in a sudden rush of insight. Of course! 

"Home.... John, I need you to take me home." 

*************************************** 

The Rock of Ages was a towering spire of stone that scraped the undersides of vast nebulae, awash in a sea of stars and color. John Rabid arrived in a glittering silvery-blue duststorm, carrying the lifeless form of Bonnie Blue. The last of her remaining power had gone to fuel the instantaneous journey from the battlefield in Denmark to the realm of the Timekeeper. He found himself standing alone on a broad balcony that seemed to have grown from the Rock, rather than cut away by steady weathering. An altar of stone formed itself as Rabid watched; attenuated stalactites grew and came together overhead, and from their joining emerged the shape of a clock face. The hour and minute hands both pointed at exactly twelve. 

Without prompting, he stepped forward and laid the girl gently on the stone bier, which yielded slightly to receive her. At once, the second hand began moving along the circle. Subtle, at first, a dim illumination began somewhere in her midsection and radiated outward, tracing along the paths of dark veins beneath pallid flesh with an azure glow. Overhead, below, around the Rock, colors played in vivid jewel tones as ruby flares, sapphire streaks, and emerald blooms. Stars expanded, collapsed, cooled, and died as the second hand ticked on, advancing the minutes one by one. Phantom shapes rose by the dozens, keepers of Time past, and swirled in intricate chaotic patterns around the raised plinth. And as John Rabid watched in rapt attention, Bonnie Blue began to change... 

He looked up in time to see the second and minute hands come to rest again at twelve, and the hour hand move forward to one. On the bier, the young woman's chest rose with the first breath of her renewed life. An hour down, a life gone; but only if she returned to the Rock in time. Rabid filed that information away for future reference.  

Dazed by the experience, Bonnie pushed herself upright and climbed down off the altar. Unaccustomed to her metamorphosis, she staggered awkwardly until Rabid put out a hand to steady her. He studied the young woman: features more sharply defined, a stronger jawline, and eyes the blue of a deep sea. She seemed all right despite the ordeal, but propriety seemed to dictate asking anyway. 

"How do you feel?" he asked. 

"Like I got run through with a broadsword," Bonnie told him. "But other'n that..." 

She gave him a wry grin. And then, without further comment, she gestured with her right hand. An ellipsoid opened in front of them, a window onto the environs of Dethfort Castle, now mostly still and silent. Taking Rabid by the hand, Bonnie stepped through the portal, which enfolded them both and vanished utterly an instant later as it deposited them at the foot of the castle. 

XIII

THE PRINCES OF DENMARK 

By John Rabid 

Creeping Death was gone. The God of the necrosphere had been weakened by Bonnie and Rabid, his withered form hugging the cracks between dimensions; licking his wounds as he prepared for the inevitable final battle. That night above the village, fireworks illuminated the an exploding sky with the joys of freedom. In the days that would allow, this celebration would turn into a sombre introspection as the dead would be remembered; burning white lanterns floating upon a sea of sorrow as Russia would blame a disappeared Admiral Kornilov for the calamitous actions of their northern fleet. Rabid contemplated Vladimir’s next move as he watched the fireworks from the deck of The Leviathan, the ship docked now at the maw of Dethfort harbour.  

‘Tea and Crumpets, care for a drink?’ 

Rabid turned, placing distance between his smart charcoal black suit and the Leviathan’s safety barrier. An ice cold can of Blue Ribbon beer was shoved into The Ripper’s curious, effete hand. Crow McMorris nodded, swatted back a mane of thick black hair and swigged back his own opened can in one messy gulp before Kaz’s raucous laughter echoed into the scene, observing Rabid’s face of obvious disdain as The Ripper inspected the crude beverage.  

Crow McMorris: It’s a beer, you drink it.  

John Rabid: Yes, I know. Thank you, troglodyte.  

Crow burped.  

Crow McMorris: Dis Nigguah. Always with the heirs and graces. You showed some guts back there, Tea and Crumpets. Gave the world a fighting chance.  

John Rabid: Now it’s down to you and Bishop to finish the job.  

Rabid turned to face Bishop behind him. The Plague was hugging Karma, her face nestled into the chest of her husband, obviously still shook up after falling under the control of Creeping Death; her eyes tightly shut, burying that side of her that desperately wanted to be a Horseman again. To release the monster within. 

John Rabid: Creeping Death. He’ll run home, to Iowa. That's his birthplace. You two will need to be ready for him there. Has Wade given you the book? 

Crow laughed. 

Crow McMorris: His precious Necronomicon? Yeah, so that’s how he was controlling the Kaiju. Should have seen the look on his face when he handed it over. Hopefully there’s enough power still left in those pages to reopen the portal and bring Corey home.  

John Rabid: And then what? What happens to Creeping Death? You honestly think this is going to work? 

Kevin Bishop pulled away slightly from Karma as he noticed Crow and Rabid’s haunted expressions staring directly at him. The Plague nodding at his observers before kissing his wife on the cheek and turning away,searching for a moment of privacy. 

Crow McMorris; Corey Black and Creeping Death need to be separated, once and for all. This is only way to do it. We’ll get it done. We have to.  

A hand reached around Rabid’s shoulder and handed him a champagne glass filled to the brim with 1943 Moët & Chandon Bicentenary imperial. Rabid smirked as Bonnie Blue was adorned now in a sparkling white dinner dress that hugged closely her newly regenerated curvatures. Crow wolf whistled and received a dig in the shoulder for his trouble.  

Bonnie Blue: Down boy, this Bonnie doesn’t take shit from Zombies  

Crow McMorris: You droppin the Z-bomb? Dat sheeit hurts Bee.  

Rabid smiled, he poured Crow's can of Blue Ribbon out over the side and sipped his champagne, as the fireworks above illuminated a brave new world, one that existed under a different and uncertain horizon. While somewhere in Iowa, a monster was preparing to make his final stand.   

FIN. 

Thanks to all that participated in this story and contributed to it’s telling: 

Bonnie Blue. Andre Holmes and Kaz Mazy! 

[John Rabid]

Bump!